Silence Tunnel
by polarocean
Summary: A young man records his life during the zombie apocalypse. These are his words.
1. Date Unknown

**Date Not Legible **

We moved south in the deadlands today... well it's D.C. but no one's called it that for almost a decade now. The old Capital Building is only a blackened dome and the Washington Memorial is the only thing above two stories standing.

I came here once in high school, they dragged us kids out to learn about our nation's government and get us interested in something that wasn't a cell phone or television. It failed... spectacturally.

Thinking back to it now I kind of regret it... not really... but since the western world officially collapsed most kids don't even learn about what national governments were, let alone what Washington D.C. was. It's just another pillar of burned out ruins that we occasionally raided or drive through from one enclaves or town to another.

Conceded and carefree, I was more interested in getting into Sandy Redfield's pants or what was under Leanne Hong's skirt. Now I'm twice as old but a far wiser then my years should have allowed me. Now I'm back, dressed in full body armor and carrying a rifle in the crock of my arm, leading a bunch of battle harden teenagers behind me in a caravan of trucks.

It makes me look back to the early days when this journal was new and crisp, the pages were free of dirt and the occasional blood smear. Back when I filled this book with more people, happy moments, less tragedy and so much more...


	2. October 22

**October 22, 2009**

It's cold, colder then it should be even for this time of year. My new leather coat looks great, a pretty penny also, but it does nothing against frigid air assaulting me on every part of my body. I shiver a bit, try not to pay attention to weather and push down the street, sneakers splashing in the few puddles that dot the ground from yesterday's downpour.

A homeless man tries to get me for a few dollars, coughing and smiling, trying to entice me with a story of how hard it is to be him.

I refuse.

I feel sorry that he has no home, that life has come down upon his head so hard but we all know what is really going to happen, a strong drink and a night sleeping on a subway grate for warmth. I cough, pretending not to see him and pull my collar up a little higher so I won't smell the fact he hasn't had a shower in a while.

Every year their seems to be more of them, the economy been hard and more then one person down on their luck has found themselves out of the job and soon on the street. I could never imagine losing my home, everything I had and I hope it never comes to that.

I cut across Locust Street, dodging the traffic and gaining more then a few choice hand gestures from several motorists. I could have gone around, continue on down Marion Street and onto the Boulevard but I wanted to avoid anymore of these panhandlers looking for my spare change. The back way could have been easier, not traipsing in through the front-door and having people shout and call for my immediate attention but I'm too lazy.

The doors to the emergency room slide open, hot air and raised voices hit me in the face. It's another double shift in the hospital... Samantha never showed up again and it's been two days now since she was last on call. We know her job is long gone yet until someone is found to fill the position we have to pick up the slack. Three other nurses and a doctor have called out sick, forcing a groan from me as I know this night isn't going to be going any faster. The flu is overtaking the city and no matter how many people show up looking for a shot of medicine and a quick recovery, it just seems to be getting worse.

Like any nurse, I'm overworked, my scrubs are splattered with god-knows what and all I want is just five minutes to sit down without a doctor demanding some test or an item out of the supply closet. Peter is watching the news in the break-room when I manage a few seconds to get a cup of coffee, avidly glued to the set and only acknowledges my arrival with a wave.

Looking over his shoulder its a newscast on the television, some petite little girl with a head of curly brown hair and microphone in her hands is reporting on a riot breaking out in west Los Angeles. I swear that city is falling apart from all the drugs, violence and gangs. My personal opinion is just to plow right over it and forget it ever existed. But I'm sure its residence would protest my possible solution.

The news reporter is obviously scarred, the camera's shaking a bit as the police line behind her raise their guns at a staggering group of rioters. A man wearing black lined gear is demanding they return to their homes but the unearthly yelling from the crowd makes him entirely unheard. Another and final demand is unnoticed, together with the approaching cluster of screaming bodies the order is given.

Both Peter, the report on the screen and me jump at the crack of gun going off, a tear gas can loops itself into the approaching crowd. Clearly the cameraman was unprepared and dropped his equipment. The video-feed cuts to static and after the brief interruption was replaced with an anchorman apologizing for the loss of signal, that the viewers would soon be informed of the riot's condition.

I downed my cheap and bitter coffee as Peter flipped through the stations trying to find another source of information on the riots. Some of us had worked to do, again he waved at my departure and all I can do was shake my head. Ten more hours to go and it wasn't going to disappear any faster if I just stand around.

Thankfully our patient load was light, the unfriendly, complaining tone of indignant invaild's are less of a burden tonight and even in some cases enjoyable. Ms. White has a broken hand that needs to be stitched up, Father Santos required a bandage over a bite mark a drunken church goer, Mr. Martin just requires a cast for his foot and good old Christopher needs his hypochondriac mind put at ease, that his blemish is not deadly skin cancer.

I finally manage to get out around six in the morning, more fell out the doors with Michael and Trisha. We laughed, pulling up memories of the day gone passed and generally discussing how trivial and stupid our patients had been. We're nurses, we do the grunt work for some Ivy League doctor and hope we get patted on the head afterwards.

We grab some drinks and food from Song's Grocery store down the street from my apartment. Penn Avenue is one of the nicer roads in the city, shops in what we natives call the Strip District are generally opened at odd hours, bars press passed the last call hour and generally it is a section of the city known for its young, lively crowds. Trisha gets some limes, I get a bottle of tequila, Michael tosses some odd snacks into the checkout line. Somewhere in there is a balanced meal.

Up the aisle however I notice Ms. Song was mopping something on the floor. It was brown and red, for some reason I knew it wasn't strawberry syrup or fruit juice, it was too thick, sloshing over the floor as the whipping only managed to spread it around, not really clean it.

Several shots of the overpowering drink later I passed out on the couch, the taste of cheap liquor burning my tongue and a nice night of drunken joking, games and discussion leaves me with a smile...


	3. October 23

**October 23, 2009**

I know its stupid, probably just my sixth sense or that eighth shot of tequila from the night before, but I knew something was wrong the moment I left my apartment.

The streets are too dark, too quiet. The bus rattles under me, I stare out the window, watching the wet, grime city rushing by. Occasionally you see a living soul but they're hurried, tension rising in the air against the overpowering cold. Moments after my ride drops me off I manage to duck down a side street and thank any number of gods for keeping some homeless man from accosting me again.

Strangely there are none as far as I can tell, for living in the city not seeing a bum on the side of the street, huddling on the subway stairs for warmth or begging at every odd corner for some kind of charity... their sudden lack, disappearance from the world, its like putting a giant hole in your field of vision. For some reason I was comparing their absence to dogs, birds or ants knowing about an earthquake before it happened. Something bad was about to happen, in my gut I just knew it. Working in the ER left you with that ability, discerning the bad before it had truly hit.

Somehow I manage to get into work without much problem. Where the streets were empty, the hospital is packed to breaking. Peter says a riot broke out in downtown as we pull on our scrubs, the two major hospitals in the south are overwhelmed and shipping their patients on to us. Whoever was in charge obviously was unprepared for how many patients they were sending to us.

I stitched up a man's bloodied hand, a grisly red semi-circle on both sides are clear signs someone tried to bite off a crunch of him. He says an old lady on the ground floor of the apartment he's a landlord of didn't take well to his offer to help, snapping a chunk of his hand off the moment he offered it before running off into the night.

No body argues with him, we're pushed to the breaking point trying to deal with the overwhelming patient load. More people are sent home then kept for observation then we should, their just aren't enough beds for someone to be comfortable. The surgical wing is floundering trying to deal with the revolving door surgeries that pour into their section of the hospital and we've cannibalized any open space in this god forsaken facility to shove patients into.

Gun shot wounds, terrible assault bruises, contusion, concussion, blood on each and everyone but sometimes it wasn't theirs. We have to restrain one man who's gone over the edge, lost what few marbles he had and actually growling, snapping his teeth at us like a rabid dog. His eyes are wild and until we can get a psych-consultation we restrained him with whatever we could come up with. Two belts and a pair on handcuffs before he was secured to the bed was the only way we would approach him. Three police officers got bruised and bitten for their troubles, we were more then happy to supply a rabies shots for the efforts they made.

Even then the god damned heart monitor was on the fritz, continuously showing a flat line where a peaking and dropping light should be. It was finally abandoned it with no replacement, we were more focused on the impossible number of wounds the patient was covered with. Some looked like claw marks, long gouging marks that bled profusely, bits of skin hanging off as if it was torn like paper.

The head nurse kicked me and a few others out just after eight in the morning. Tonight there was no laughing, hilarity or discussion. Exhaustion and the horrors of the day forced our tongues to the back of our mouths. I waved good bye as my path home diverted from their own.

About halfway home is when he made a grab for me.

I could see the stoop of my apartment, the creamy, concrete steps that led up to my one bedroom studio home that was more a whole in the wall with a kitchen and bathroom then a dwelling. So preoccupied to fall into my bed and sleep forever since tomorrow was my day off, I didn't see the homeless guy until he stumbled right into my field of vision.

Obviously drunk, his hands outstretched to keep him upright, his groaning was loud and he reeked from god knows what. A terrible limp kept him stumbling and when he reached out to me, either for money or support, my normal American sense of invasion of privacy kicked in. I side stepped him, called him a drunk under my breath and quickly made for the steps of my apartment.

Unlike those new apartments that tried to emulate that metropolitan style with steel and glass as an excuse not to use real building materials like wood, pant or walls thicker then a centimeter, my building was older then me... times three. A big oak door fell into place, booming as the deadbolt locked automatically. Up the three flights to my home and I slide into bed, enjoying the cool, fluffy sheets against my bear skin as I tossed myself carelessly into the bed...


	4. October 24

**October 24, 2009**

It was nine o'clock, the sun had long ago dipped below the horizon and though I had risen late from being a night-shift worker, I managed to catch the last whispers of sunlight before it was lost behind the skyscrapers in the distance. However this artistic fantasy was lost on me and possibly anyone with television, radio, internet or eyes.

Glued to the news I couldn't change the channel, believe me I tried and it was the same thing on the next one. On location or in the studio, no story existed outside the one domineering event that overshadowed everything. If you saw it, the first thought you'd think was another horror movie marathon had been called on to fill some dead-space time the station had no use for. But as the gory scenes unfolded with the FOX or NBC logo floating in the corner, you were soon to forget anything of the such.

People killing people.

It wasn't a riot, the newest brushfire war or some civil disobedience gone out of control. It was just one person tearing another to bits and then moving on... while their victim who had previously been fleeing in terror rose to join in the carnage. I was sick to my stomach as a station from Salt Lake City showed a older man, someone who had have been among my grandfather's poker group, ran down a athletic young woman like a cheetah on the grasslands.

Everywhere, every station, everyone was talking about what was going on but none were telling why. The internet was no better, frantic rumors of bio-terrorist attacks or terrifying pandemics overrunning the world filled discussion boards and forums. The worldwide web had more freedom, far more voices could add their thoughts and opinions. During this trying time however its first flaw became apparent, everyone claimed to be an expert and useless information flowed freely.

I try my parent's a few times. We don't talk anymore, not since we had that huge falling out during my wild and experimenting college years, but they are the people that raised me. Nothing, not that no one answers, it just an automated message saying the line is disconnected. I feel a little paranoid, why would the phone-lines be down. They live in Seattle, nothing suppose to be wrong up that way.

Or is it?

Radio was no better, occasionally music but primarily the channels were just frantic yelling of the end times and while they could be correct I wanted to know the physical evidence, a plausible explanation before I threw my hat in with God's lot.

That's when I stumbled onto a government broadcast.

They were listing cities, a long never ending drawl that at first I didn't understand but for some reason beyond me I refused to turn off. It wasn't just American ones, London, Hong Kong, Sydney, Buenos Aires and Paris were among them. The announcer finished with the one final sentence, cryptic and gut wrenching to me.

These were the cities lost to the growing plague of 'Infected'.

Few survivors were confirmed, thousands were possibly dead and many a municipality was burning to the ground as the reports were posted. The President was calling for people to remain calm, the VP was missing somewhere in Texas, New York's mayor had destroyed all entries to Manhattan, the Hawaiian islands were refusing all international flights and Los Angeles was a firestorm of violence, death and everyone was urging citizens to stay indoors or risk a horrific demise.

The telephone rang, catching me off guard and nearly causing me to topple off the couch. Work was calling, all hands on deck. The rioters had spread into most of the suburban neighborhoods of south, injured were pouring in and they were packing the ambulances like sardines. Middle Hill neighborhood was on fire, North Oakland was completely cutoff and Bedford Dwellings was entirely gone after the police lines were overrun.

Bedford was just south of me, literally over the highway and I could see the growing smoking that was spreading across the horizon. Hell hate hit the city and hard.

My scrubs were already over my head and I was almost to the door when I heard it.

Gunfire, at first it sounded like popcorn heating in the microwave but as it rose in volume the realization dawned on me.

At the window, I threw the glass barrier back and thrust my head outside. A fowl odor hit my nostrils and I almost gagged trying to take the first breath of fresh air all day. It was an unbearable, burning gas and the stench of something rotting. Coughing back a sudden rush of bile I almost didn't notice the screaming, the overpowering shouting of anguish and demanding torment.

They were below, crawling at the brick wall on the ground underneath my window trying to get up to me on the second story.

They were attracted by movement, that is what the television reports had made clear. Hide inside and don't make noise, you'll be okay if your not seen. I slammed my window close and drew the blinds, I'm a night-worker so I have some heavy duty shades to keep the light out as the day went on while I slept.

Screaming, outside they howled like banshees as they rushed across the concrete grounds of the surrounding neighborhood as I peered from behind my window awning. A few went for the ground floor windows of the apartments across the street, obviously someone had been close enough to the glass, probably trying to understand what was going on, attracting the Infected collective attention. They volleyed through the windows, the glass flying everywhere as some woman shrieked.

A cop car raised down the street yet the uniformed officers never slowed, they actually swerved around the fighting in the streets, their siren only managing to attract several of the Infected to give chase.

I threw myself back from the blinds, not wanting to see anything more. I actually hid... right there in the closet behind my sneakers and hanging jeans. I could hear the screeching, howling, unholy sick sounds, cars honking, gunfire abound...


	5. October 25

**October 25, 2009**

The sun was rising before I got up the courage to push myself out and see what was going on. Blinds may have obscured my view slightly but it was more then I wanted to see.

The road was empty, nothing moved, the automobiles stood still, several fires crackled and broken debris littered the ground... and a whole lot of bodies. Toys, they looked like puppets with their strings cut, lost in their final moments as they hit the ground.

I almost think about going down there, to check and see if its for real. Its the medical professional in me, the urge to help those in need. That is quickly squashed the moment one of those Infected stumble into the street.

He's dress in... though it is badly mangled... in some SWAT gear. His helmet is still strapped to his head, what's left of it at least. Most of his cheek and the bulk of the nose, small examples next to the eye that hangs lazily from his socket. The urge to vomit rises in my gullets and I takes several moments to force the bile taste back into my stomach where it belongs.

Craning my neck a bit I look towards the cluster of skyscrapers on the horizon, the city center was almost pristine, shining steel and glass that were stark contrasts of the burning pillars of smoke rising around it. Occasionally gunfire breaks the silence, a scream of some unfortunate victim and maybe the squeal of passing car.

Back into my apartment I grab a can of food, something that is a cross between noodles and beef. I don't know what it is, I usually don't eat at home but since I am certainly not chancing having my face eaten, trying to get a happy meal from McDonald's, its all I have. The radio is on, I'm listening to it on low as possible trying to take a guess what's going on. I really wish I hadn't broken my headphones, I really wish I had gone to the store and gotten new ones... I wondered if there was a store left...

Tokyo fell.

The high-tech, wired metropolis is the talk of the world since it recorded its own demise, transmitted onto every news station, internet website and download server on this big blue Earth. Terror, riots, people eating people, it had sent everyone to chaos trying to guess how this was happening, how it was so widespread and...

Static blasts over the speaker and I quickly make a grab for the volume dial. I lost the frequency and for it I got deafening earful in return. My heart was in my throat, I had to fight to keep myself from hyperventilating.

I hoped no one had heard it, especially if there were any Infected in the building. I hadn't left my apartment since the first Infected started appearing, my pep-hole was smudged with something and I refused to chance my life by opening the door to sneak a peek.

For an eternity I was frozen, silent and waiting for something I wished never would come.

I was almost hopeful that my disturbance had gone unnoticed when the first moaning started. It was an ghostly sound, wailing and grating. Nails ran down my door, then another pair. My new arrival had friends.

If what I remembered from the broadcast was true they wouldn't stop, wouldn't break until finally they reached their prey or something else came along to distract them. The latter part was going to help me so it was time to get out of dodge.

Grabbing my backpack, I tossed what few canned goods and slim pickings of food I had, snatched my cell phone and jacket. The entrance way was splintering by the force being applied to it, a break in the frame had already allowed a pair of gnarled fingers make it through the hole. More then a few dozen of the angry ghouls wanted to get inside and I was not intending to be here to greet them.

My heart was back in its throat but now vertigo was playing with my senses as I hung out the window of my apartment. The ladder rungs were cold, furthermore wet and slippery under my fingers as I managed to pull myself the incredible distance between the portal and the fire escape.

Rising up the lengths of metal I hauled myself onto the roof, thankful to have the chipped and broken tar under my back as I fell onto safety. Not a moment too soon as the cracking of wood sounded the large fireproof, oak door to my apartment had failed to hold.

Frightful and macabre gurgling sounds announced that the invaders were displeased not to find anything. I stared over the side, down into the alley below and trying to see if they would try and follow me. They weren't smart enough to open doors or use weapons, something to do with the virus that caused all this destroying their brains according to a CDC announcement, but I was not about to bet my life on second-hand rumors and hastily reported facts.

So lost in my observation I missed the first time my name was called. The second time I looked up and found the barrel of a shot gun pointing down at me from the nearby apartment.

Diana Brown stood their like a stoic sentinel, training her weapon on me with terrible accuracy and asked me simply "We're you bitten."

I shook my head and she quickly dropped her gun. Behind her willowy, fifty-year old frame, I could see the tiny body of Jonah Simpson, the teenager eyed me reluctantly as he father, Simon, led him back. I asked where Laura was, his wife. She was such nice woman, she lived in the building next to me but she always made sure to say hello to me on the street, to bring me a pie when I moved in and marching her only child over to explain how his baseball had dented my car.

A sad but poignant glare from Simon answered my question of Laura's ultimate fate.

Someone shouted, a howl from a lone Infected on the street below tried to overshadowed them but failed. I turned to stare across the parking lot boarding the side of my apartment, the recognizable pair of the Ying and Ja Song, the owners of the grocery store that I had frequented only a few days ago.

We weren't alone... I wasn't alone. I was hiding in an apartment on the second floor, the surrounding buildings were four and five stories high. I just couldn't see them. Across Mulberry Way, the street behind my apartment, three factory workers stalked the roof of the canning building. Ronald, Sam and Sanjay, those were the names Ms. Brown explained since she had been on her roof yelling over to them since last night as I hid in my closet.

Two building down Michael Thomas teetered on the slanted roof of his townhouse. Across the street Donna Turner almost bounced in her tattered skirt, she had a crush on me since I had returned her cat one day after it had gotten loose. Behind her, two men gathered around an obviously injured tenant. Their names escaped me but as a nurse I was calling over if she was okay. They wouldn't say and that's what worried me most.

Down from them Liam Kane yelled when someone was going to come and get him. He was a loud man who ran the meat market, I use to go down to his business to get some nice steaks for the Fourth of July block party.

Fifteen people, all alive... living people in a city of the dead...


End file.
